Page 68 of Soul of a Witch

“I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” I said, and she looked stricken. But it was true; she was only afraid of offending me. “Give me time, my lady. This is all I have. You are all I have. I know that may scare you.” Her eyes flickered around my face, searching it. “But I’ve fought this war for two thousand years, waiting for my commander. If I am ever meant to see peace again, it will be through you. If anyone can bring this war to its end…”

“Me,” she whispered. Such a simple word, full of so much fear, drenched in disbelief. “You really think I can…” She shook her head, laughing softly. “You think I can kill a God?”

Taking her wrist, I caressed my fingers over the mottled bruises and the swollen wounds from where the cuffs had bit into her. “The manacles you wore have been used for hundreds of years to completely and totally render witches unable to use their magic. Not only did you continue to use magic in a myriad of ways while wearing them, but you laid waste to an entire pack of beasts. You burned an acre of forest to a crisp, in just a few mere seconds.” Bringing her wrists close to me, I kissed her bruises. “You are far more powerful than you have ever been allowed to believe.”

24

Everly

For the entire next day and following night, I slept. Fitful dreams filled my sleep, visions of fire, memories of pain.

In the brief moments I would wake, Callum was standing over me. Sometimes close, right at my bedside. Sometimes in a chair near the fire or standing by the window gazing out at the rain. But he was always near, and his presence gave me comfort.

Despite the Deep One’s vicious efforts, my soul was no longer destined for Its merciless eternity. With just a few words and the cuts from Callum’s knife, my fate had changed entirely.

I belonged to him, and my soul was destined for Hell.

Slowly, I sat up, feeling like a corpse rising from the grave. Pale sunlight streamed in the open windows. My grandmother’s radio was set on the table near the fireplace, and it crackled with her voice.

“It’s good to see you awake at last,” she said. “Callum has gone out to the garden to fetch a few herbs for me. I’m preparing a tincture that will help those scars heal cleanly.”

Immediately, my hand clutched at my stomach. I’d been dressed in clean clothes, made of soft loose linen. But beneath the cloth, my skin was tender. Holding my breath to brace myself, I lifted my shirt and peered down. Elaborate lines and circles covered my stomach, surrounding Callum’s familiar sigil carved over my navel.

Abruptly, I lowered my shirt and hugged my arms around myself. My grandmother tsked softly, and I felt the sensation of a hand rubbing my shoulders.

“Oh, my dear, do not be afraid,” she said. “Many people throughout history, witches or not, have given their souls to a demon. An afterlife in Hell is not the terror you’ve been led to believe. It is an entirely new world; you will not be abused there. Some witches visit Hell even before their deaths. I’ve heard it’s a fascinating place.”

“Have you been there?” I said, desperately eager for her reassurance. So much of my life felt beyond my control; I was stuck on a rollercoaster with no brakes, unable to see the twists and turns of the track ahead.

“I have not. But your ancestor, our Grand Mistress Sybil, traveled there many times.”

The reminder of Sybil made me groan. “The grimoire. Ilostthe grimoire, Grams, I —” I sighed, thinking suddenly of naive Raelynn carrying that book around. “But I know where it is.”

“Then you haven’t truly lost it, have you?” she said, keeping her voice fiercely upbeat. “You’ve been through enough in these past few days. You need your rest, and a bath by the look of your hair. When you’ve healed, you will try again. As long as you’re alive, we have not failed.” There was a soft sound, like the shifting of dry grass. “Callum has returned. I’ll leave you to rest, but I’m sure he’ll be up to check on you soon.”

Before she could go, I said suddenly, “There was another demon here, wasn’t there? Callum was angry…” The memories were so vague, but I was certain I’d seen another demon, with massive feathered wings, standing over me as I writhed in pain.

My grandmother’s voice was grim as she said, “We were visited by one of Hell’s oldest and most powerful demons, Lucifer. He demanded Callum claim your soul, and Callum tried to refuse — until he had no other choice.”

A thousand questions fought for attention in my mind. “Why would another demon care what happens to my soul?”

“You’re powerful, Everly. And Hell craves power. The dedication of your soul to Hell helps to ensure the ongoing security and longevity of that world.” It seemed as if there was something more she wanted to explain, but instead said abruptly, “I’ll prepare the tincture for you. You’ll find clean clothes in the wardrobe.”

With a final crackle of static, she left the room.

Despite my clean clothes, the rest of me was still filthy. The wounds on my wrists had been cleaned and bandaged, but my hair was clumped with dirt and tangles, my skin spotted with mud. My body ached as I got out of bed, stretching my stiff arms and legs. To my surprise, despite being drowsy and sore, I felt far stronger than I expected.

Far stronger than I had feltbefore.

I drew a bath, filling the large porcelain tub with water that smelled faintly of cedarwood. Steam surrounded me as I stepped into the bath, sinking into the water with a groan. Carefully, I unwrapped the bandages from my wrists, allowing the wounds a bit of fresh air. The bruising was extensive, but the tears in my skin had already healed.

After scrubbing myself clean, I drained the tub and filled it again with fresh water, closing my eyes as I soaked. But it wasn’t long before a strange feeling made me open them again.

It was the sensation of being watched, but not by the God. Frowning, I looked all around the room, searching for the source of my unease. The large window beside the tub looked out upon a gray rainy day, and as I peered down into the yard, I spotted a figure standing beneath the trees.

They were shrouded in a red cloak, standing out starkly amid the dark greenery. They were tall, easily as tall as Callum, and instead of a face…

It was the skull of a horse.

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